HouseCameron: Simple Answers
by Housegal
Summary: House/Cameron. Takes place after 'que sera sera', exploring why Cameron was drawn to the 600 pound patient and his attitude to life, and when her past resurfaces how her and House develop and deal. Hameron romance, eating disorders, angst.Read and Review!
1. Simple Answers

**Simple Answers**

Chapter 1

Dusk had fallen over PPTH, and darkness had begun to settle in. It had been a long day, House and the team had just finished diagnosing George – the 600 pound man who it was revealed was terminally ill with cancer. House was in his office, searching for yet more vicodin to relieve the pain in his leg. Unsolved puzzles always seemed to make it ache more, and his perplexity about Cameron's attachment to this patient was still bugging him. Before he had time to ponder any further, she interrupted his thoughts, standing like a mirage in the doorway.

"You were right," she said quietly. How long had she been standing there, watching him?

" So was he." House responded without looking up, despite his curiosity as to why she was there.

" He said c'est la vie." She started walking towards him, her eyes fixed on his profile in that penetrating gaze.

"He's a complicated man." House still didn't look at her. Cameron began to spin his oversized tennis ball.

"What about you? What are you going to do about your problem?"

House shut the file he was holding, "Nothing. I just got a call from my lawyer; he gave the DA copies of my prescriptions. As soon as they confirm that it's bona fide, they're going to drop the possession, DUI and resisting arrest. As soon as I pay my 85 dollars speeding ticket and impound fine, I get my bike back." He fixed her with a stare of his own.

"I guess that's good." Cameron was still spinning his ball, her other hand casually resting on her hip.

" You guess?" House paused, momentarily surprised.

" No, it's good." She stopped spinning the ball, looking up at him. "You get to keep going like you always have." She turned to leave. House watched her until she was halfway out of the room, before he had to ask.

" Alright, I give up, who was it?" Cameron turned back to look at him. "Who in your family had the weight problem?"

" You think I can only care about a patient if I know someone else who's been through the same thing?"

"You care for everybody. You only lie and stand up to Cuddy for a few."

" You lie for everybody and only care about a few."

" You're avoiding the question." House's eyes were fixed carefully on her face, trying to read her expression.

"I like damaged people, remember? Explains everything I do." Cameron gave an almost bitter look as she said this, wryly remembering House's diagnosis of her on their disastrous date.

"Almost everything." House was still watching her closely. Cameron gave an ironic smile, and started leaving the office. "Wasn't you, was it?"

She turned back to face him at this question. "Does it matter?"

"Nope, but it'd be interesting."

"Sorry to disappoint you, sometimes the answers just aren't that simple." She finally exited his office, sharing one last look with him as she does. House stood there for a moment, thinking about the conversation they had just had. There was something in her past. He just hasn't yet figured out what.

***

Cameron slowly walked down the hallway to her locker, pondering the patient George and the real reason she felt drawn to him. House was right, she had a past – just not the one he thought. Cameron grabbed her coat and bag, before almost colliding with Chase in her dazed and disoriented state.

"Whoa, watch out, Cameron. You could hurt yourself, walking like that." Cameron looked up at him, wondering what she saw in him. No, he wasn't a bad guy, but he was just ... _not House_, a little voice whispered in her head. But she quickly brushed that thought away as she opened her mouth to answer Chase. That ship had sailed.

"Sorry, I'm just kinda tired, I guess. Long day." Cameron avoided his gaze, hoping he would just leave it at that and let her go home.

"Are you ok? You're not mad at me because of the whole fat guy thing, right?" Chase looked mildly concerned for a moment, but Cameron could see he was a little annoyed.

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "Really, I'm just on my way home."

"Oh, well, want me to join you?" Chase asked hopefully. "I was just about to leave too."

Cameron sighed, rubbing her temple. This wasn't going to be pretty. "Chase, look. I'm really just not in the mood right now."

Chase looked annoyed, and crossed his arms over his chest in a manly gesture. "What's going on? Why are you avoiding me, Cameron?"

Cameron looked at him. "Look, I just really need a break right now, ok? This was never meant to be a real thing anyway, it was purely physical from the start. I think we should just stay as colleagues for a while." She turned, re-adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She tried not to look at Chase, but she knew she was doing the right thing. He obviously liked her more than she liked him, and it would be cruel to lead him on any further. Plus she was really, really tired.

Cameron started walking out of the hospital towards the car park, leaving a forlorn Chase in her wake. She was surprised to discover that she didn't really care about hurting his feelings buy breaking up with him, she was really just relieved. Cameron got in her car and drove home, listening to the raindrops patter on the windows. Now she really was alone.

Cameron climbed the stairs to her apartment and unlocked her door, shaking out her wet hair as she crossed the threshold. She dumped her bag and coat on a nearby chair, before taking a steaming hot shower, shampooing her hair and scrubbing her body furiously in an attempt to wash her cares away. But however much she kept trying to push her ever-surfacing thoughts down, memories of the past kept streaming back. She climbed out of the shower, towelled herself dry and put on a pair of warm pyjamas before sitting on the lid of her toilet to think.

She held her head in her hands as old feelings returned. She'd tried to stop them, she'd been so good for so long – but this patient had changed everything. She had been drawn to him, drawn to his idea of life and attitude to the world, how he didn't care what anyone thought about him, how he was completely alone. Cameron was surprised at their similarity – alone and with a weakness.

She crouched by the toilet and opened the lid, thrusting her middle and index finger quickly down her throat, forcing herself to vomit into the toilet. Again, and again, until there was nothing left. She was empty.

Sometimes the answers just aren't that simple.

***

_So, what'd everyone think? Please review, tell me what you think so far, if you think I should continue, and what you think should happen in the story!!! Thanks everyone!_


	2. Photographs

**Chapter Two**

House limped up to his apartment and unlocked the door, cursing the rain as he did so. When he had finally made it inside, he collapsed on his couch and kicked off his shoes, resting his arm over his eyes. His conversation with Cameron had done nothing to answer any of his questions, only create new ones. He didn't understand her at all – he didn't understand why she was the way she was. He knew about her husband, obviously – now pretty much everyone did. But he suspected it was more than that – women who aren't damaged don't marry dying men. House was convinced Cameron was hiding something. Something their patient George had brought out in her. He just wasn't sure what yet.

House reached inside his jacket pocket and grabbed his bottle of vicodin, dry-swallowing a pill neatly with a sigh. He didn't have the energy for any more thoughts. His leg was hurting too much from all the unanswered questions.

***

Cameron was disgusted with herself, with what she had done... but at the same time she was relieved, she felt _clean,_ and pure, and like she had just cleansed herself of her cares and worries. She rested her head on her arm, still slumped over the toilet. She closed her eyes, momentarily wishing she could turn back time and undo what she had just done... but it was too late. She felt herself vividly remembering teenage years, and felt familiar feelings rising in her.

"_Allison, what have you done? Look at yourself, you are disgusting. No more than a living skeleton."_

She felt hot tears pricking the back of her eyes, but swallowed, trying to keep them from coming to the surface. Crying made it feel so much more real again.

"_Allison, are you sure you're alright? You don't seem yourself these days."_

She slowly got up, and made her way over to her sink to rinse her mouth with water before climbing into her warm bed. She curled up under her covers and tried to sleep, forgetting what she had done.

"_You're so thin Allison! Why are you doing this?"_

But sleep wouldn't come. Cameron sat up on her pillow and flicked on her lamp. She opened her nightstand, fumbling in the drawer to look at a small pile of photographs she had stored beneath her other various items.

She unhooked the rubber band holding them together and began to gaze at each one. They were in pristine condition due to the fact that Cameron rarely looked at these pictures. She preferred to look at more recent photos of her marriage and of her friends. These photos showed her childhood.

The first picture was of two girls, one roughly twelve years old with dark brown hair, and the other about nine with the same face. The only difference between them was their weight. The older girl was perfect, confident and already beautiful for her age – you could tell she was one of those girls that could get away with murder and only have to smile that charming smile to be forgiven. The younger girl, on the other hand, was extremely chubby for her age. She did not exude the same confidence as her older sister, instead she was lost in the shadows about a foot behind. She was smiling, but fear and slight despair were evident in her eyes.

Cameron closed her eyes again momentarily, recollecting the day this photo was taken. It had been summer, and her and her sister were playing in the yard in shorts and T-shirts.

"_Come __**on**__ Allie, you're so slow!"_

Obstacle courses – they had set up obstacle courses.

"_Why can't you go any faster? It's no fun playing with you."_

She had been tired.

"_I'm going to go and play with my __**own**__ friends. They can run way faster than you."_

Cameron remembered watching her older sister run away, struggling not to cry. She was a loser, no one wanted to play with her – the girl left out of everything, the loner of the group. Sometimes she still felt like that now.

She placed the photo on the bed next to her and carefully picked up the next one in the small pile. It showed the same two girls, about three years older this time with their mother who had the same dark hair and blue-green eyes. The mother's arm was around the older daughter, who was clutching a trophy, her eyes sparkling with happiness and satisfaction. The younger girl, about twelve or thirteen now, was still overweight – and she still wore the same expression of despair, despite her smiling mouth.

"_Aren't you proud of your sister?"_

The third photo was a radical change. This photo showed the two sisters side by side again, but this time it was the younger one who was the thinnest. They both had their arms around each other, sitting at a table at a cafe – they were roughly fourteen and sixteen. They were beautiful, but the older one had sexiness about her, a confidence which the younger lacked. She was thin – too thin, and she looked unhappy and dissatisfied.

"_What's wrong with you, Allison?"_

Cameron leaned her head back on the bed and closed her eyes.

"_Why can't you be more like your sister?"_

She tried, oh, how she tried. Her sister had been perfect, everyone had liked her. Little Allie – well, not so little really, the others had snickered – she was nothing like her older sister. She was boring, she wasn't very good at anything, she was fat.

Cameron saw visions of food in front of her, food she had refused to eat for many years. And when she had caved, when she had been too weak to just not eat it, she had thrown it up again. She would be perfect, just like her sister. And even if she wasn't perfect at least she was in control.

_Reviews are love! ___


	3. Spiralling

_First of all, thank you to everyone who reviewed! It means so much to me, it really helps me get inspired when I know that people out there are enjoying my story! _

_And now... to continue..._

Gregory House strode through the glass doors of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, backpack slung casually over his shoulder, silently humming under his breath. He was in a reasonably good mood. Actually he was in a _very_ good mood – for him, at least. He had had a good night's sleep, and his leg was feeling better than usual today. Nothing was bothering him – no, not even Cameron's little puzzle. He officially had stopped caring about that one. He had decided it was just another one of her little eccentricities – kinda like the whole marrying a dying man thing.

As he limped past the front desk in the lobby of the hospital, he passed a rather attractive looking young nurse. "Hello, there, how's it going?" he walked up to her. "I'm Dr. House, I'm sure you've heard of me, they do think very highly of me, are you new here?"

The young blonde narrowed her eyes at him. "I've worked here for the last eight months, Dr. House."

House shrugged. "Oops, my bad! I guess it's because you're so young..." he was cut off mid-sentence by a grab at his arm, yanking him away from the now terrified nurse.

"Okay, House, that's enough cradle-robbing for one day," Wilson told him. "Now, don't you have work to be doing? A patient to be seeing? It is," he checked his watch "ten fifteen. I'm assuming you've only just arrived at work?"

"Jeez, _dad,_ talk about being a killjoy. I wasn't aware I had to ask your permission every time I had a conversation."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "No, but when it could get you sued, yeah, maybe you should check first."

House shook his head in mock disappointment. "Well, Jimmy ma boy, as fun as this is I'd better be off to doing some work now. You know me...soaps to watch, gameboys to play, Cuddies to avoid, teams to terrorize..."

Wilson followed him. "I'd probably better escort you up. Just to make sure you don't come across any more young nurses."

They stepped into an elevator and House pressed the button for their floor. Wilson turned to him. "So why're you so happy today? I thought things didn't go so well with Cameron last night... or maybe I was incorrect about her, _cough_, ghostly pale I'm-about-to-cry expression?"

House sighed. He really didn't need to be thinking about Cameron _again_ today. He had finally gotten her out of his head last night. Trust Wilson to bring her up again.

"Gee, Wilson, if you wanted to go and comfort her so badly why didn't you? We all know how much needy women appeal to you."

Wilson smirked. "I don't think _I_ am the person she would most like to be comforted by."

House narrowed his eyes. "Well, if you're suggesting me, you obviously have been spending too long with those delusional cancer patients. _I _am the one that made her (_supposedly_) upset, remember?"

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I have long given up trying to understand your relationship with women, House."

The elevator 'pinged!' and the doors opened. House and Wilson strode their respective ways towards diagnostics and oncology, both pretending not to, but thinking nonetheless about the conversation they had just shared.

Wilson was puzzled – why had Cameron been so upset last night? And why didn't she want House to see? Was it something House had said? But, he reflected, she had been acting strangely ever since they had had that patient – that _huge_ patient – what was his name? It didn't matter. Wilson opened the door to his office with a shrug. He had a lot of work to do.

Meanwhile, House was pondering the same thing as he walked towards diagnostics. _Why_ had Cameron been acting so strangely? What had he said – what had that patient said? Dammit, he cursed silently, now he was interested again. That wasn't supposed to happen.

He pushed open the glass doors and flung his backpack down on the table. "Morning, my little rays of sunshine. How's everyone doing today?"

He was met by stunned looks from the three doctors. "What, did I cut myself shaving?" House quipped.

"You're...happy," Chase said incredulously.

"No, not happy, Aussie, just not fed up by people yet. But I can tell that's about to change."

Foreman strode over to him. "18 year old male, presents with abdominal pain, cough, rash - "

"Boring. This is just typical - " House started to say.

"No, it's not, I haven't finished yet. Blood pressure's not responding to IV fluids." Foreman raised his eyebrows at House.

"Hmph. Well, this is a stumper. Has anyone taken a patient history yet?"

"Yeah, nothing that would affect our diagnosis," Chase stated. "But he did collapse while having sex with his girlfriend."

House looked up. "She _rode_ him to death?" he smirked. "Cameron, take note. This girl obviously knows how to play it the way men..." he stopped when Cameron didn't cut in with her usual jab back at him.

"_Cameron_," he said. "Hello-hoo, anybody home?"

Cameron started out of her reverie. "What? Oh, for god's sake, House, do I really have to reply every time you sexually harass me?"

"No, only when I make particularly good comments. Okay, now, what are you people still doing here? Go find a way to control that blood pressure before the kid dies. Off with you!"

House watched the three doctors get up and leave the room, taking careful note of Cameron. Not that he didn't always do that. But he took even more note today. Something was different... but he mentally shook himself. _No_. He had told himself no more of that, no more of her...

Chase, Foreman, and Cameron strode down the hall towards the patient's room. "God, you just never know what's coming with House, huh," Chase was complaining.

"Yeah, one minute he's happy and the next he's even more grumpy than usual. He has more mood swings than a pregnant woman," Foreman agreed.

Cameron wasn't really listening to their conversation. She was too busy trying to ignore her growling stomach, telling herself that she needed to be _strong_. She felt good, though – she felt surprisingly clear-headed and alert. Sometimes she felt herself slip onto an autopilot – like she had in the differential diagnosis earlier – but for the most part she was feeling sharp and energised. She felt powerful. She felt in control.

But she had felt the exact same way when she was spiralling _out_ of control, fifteen years ago.

_Once again, please, please review! ___


	4. Control

Cameron was in the middle of ultra-sounding the their patient's abdomen, aided by Foreman and Chase who were also giving him broad spectrum antibiotics and trying to convince his worried girlfriend that everything was alright.

"I'm just saying, if they knew what was wrong, they'd be _treating_ you," she was saying testily.

Cameron left Foreman to deal with calming down the girl. She really just didn't feel like it today. She was feeling good today – yes, she felt very good, actually. She had so far been disciplined and had only eaten half an apple for breakfast (because it was always better to eat something for breakfast, she knew that) and she'd only eaten an apple, a piece of cheese and a bowl of soup yesterday. So far so good. But she knew from experience how easy it was to just make one slip and fall into the trap of binging, and she really didn't want any bad experience to drive her to that. So for once she tried to ignore the patient's family's feelings.

"Cameron, you want to come to lunch with us?" Chase was asking her.

Cameron froze momentarily. Lunch. A simple word really, five letters, one syllable, quick and efficient. A necessity to get through the day.

"Umm..."

One sandwich won't make you fat. One apple won't either.

"Okay." Cameron heard her mouth say it before her brain had time to fully process the information.

"Let's go now then, before House finds some other ridiculous test for us to do," Chase said, pulling off his gloves. He and Foreman headed out of the patient's room, with Cameron following them more slowly, arguing internally with herself.

"You know what guys, actually, I think I'm going to eat later. Cuddy asked me to give her some extra help in the clinic now."

Foreman and Chase shrugged and walked towards the cafeteria as Cameron headed in the opposite direction, supposedly towards the clinic. After waiting to see Foreman and Chase head downstairs, she doubled back and made her way back towards the diagnostics office to pick up her bag and maybe take a quick break reading a book or something.

She opened the glass door and picked her bag off the chair, checking to see whether House was in his office. Yup. The lights were off and the curtains drawn – she checked her watch. 12:00 – time for his favourite soap. She sighed, wondering why House's ridiculous habits didn't deter her feelings at all, chiding herself as she was reminded the hurt she felt when she thought about him. It wasn't worth it.

Cameron grabbed her book and headed off towards the women's locker room to steal a couple of moments of peace before she had to head back to diagnostics. The plan was not to let anyone suspect anything. She knew Foreman and Chase wouldn't care enough about her doing clinic duty to check, but Cuddy would get suspicious if she suddenly started requesting extra hours, so it really was easier just to sit in the locker room, keeping everyone happy. And not eating.

*

House was puzzled by what he had seen through the gap between the blinds in his office. Cameron was alone and getting – a book? At lunchtime? House had never known a time when Cameron would willingly slack off the job – the patients meant everything to her and she was very hardworking.

He shrugged and turned back to Dr. Fitzgerald and his pregnant girlfriend. It would all reveal itself in the end.

*

Cameron was interrupted from her book by her pager going off. Sighing, she glanced down, only to rush back toward the patient's room, met by the sight of Foreman and Chase intubating him.

"What happened?" She asked breathlessly.

"Tachycardia. We think a result of the broad spectrum antibiotics, but we can't be sure until we get the lab results back," Foreman replied, as they walked back to the office.

House was standing there as they entered. "What did you ducklings do to that poor innocent girl now?"

"Boy." Cameron reminded him.

"Does it matter?" House snarked. "Does that deflect from the fact that you people almost killed him? Gosh, I turn my back for one minute..."

"His tachycardia was a result of the medication we gave him. Coupled with the low BP it forced his platelet count to drop. We're not sure why his platelets were down to begin with though..." Foreman was saying

"So you come crawling back to Papa. Don't worry, Jesus told me to take my prodigal sons back," House replied, turning to the whiteboard. "So, what could cause low platelets coupled with all the other previous symptoms?"

His team looked blankly back at him. "Oh, come on, I know I'm good looking, but please – this is getting embarrassing," House quipped, pretending to blush.

"Viral heart infection," Foreman said.

"It's a ten-million to one shot," Chase replied. "And it doesn't account for the rash or cough."

"Yes, please feel free to ignore symptoms when it suits you," House said, exasperatedly.

"Nothing explains all these symptoms," Cameron said.

"Oh, well, thank you for that Dr. Cameron. Because I thought he might be sick," House snarked back to her.

Cameron looked annoyed, but quickly brushed it off. House watched her closely.

"Okay, do an LP to check for infection and EKG to rule out any heart problems. When someone comes up with a better idea, do something, or else this poor girl's going to be dead before you can say "lupus"."

The team got up and set off to do yet more tests, Cameron sighing as she did, trying to ignore her still-grumbling stomach. She was in control. She was in control...

She wouldn't eat anything else today. She wasn't losing enough weight – she was still so fat, the fat hung off her body in great sheets and rolls, she was wobbly like jello, doughy like bread, it was disgusting. No, nothing else today, and only a small breakfast tomorrow. And she would run on her treadmill when she got home – yes, burn off some of those calories from yesterday still lingering on her body. She needed to get rid of them all...

"Cameron!" she heard someone calling.

"What?" she snapped, looking up at Foreman.

"Whoa," he said, taken aback. "I just wanted to tell you that we have this covered, you can go home if you want. You took the late shift last night."

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I guess I'm just tired. Didn't mean to snap at you."

"That's okay," he replied. "Cameron, are you sure you're alright? You look a little pale..."

"_Allison, are you sure you're alright? You've been looking a little pale lately..."_

She pushed aside her memory. "No, I'm fine, I told you, just a little tired." She gave him a small smile and turned to leave and head home.

She passed House on her way out of the hospital. He was slouching by the nurse's station in the lobby, obviously trying to avoid Cuddy. She shook her head. Some people never change.

"Dr. Cameron!"

She sighed, turning around. House's comments were something she really didn't need right now. She was already looking forward to sleeping through her hunger.

"Leaving so soon, Dr. Cameron? Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that we had a patient."

She looked up at him, but for once didn't quite meet his gaze. "I'm going home. Chase and Foreman have it covered, I just worked a triple shift." She tried to leave again but he grabbed onto her bag.

"Well, I wouldn't have thought that mattered to a person such as yourself, someone so obsessed with patient welfare you're practically ready to adopt everyone that comes along."

She finally looked at him. "Well, look what you did to me. I guess I have changed."

"People don't change," House said softly. "They only pretend to." He was looking deep into her eyes, his azure pools of blue physically melting her.

"Then maybe I was always this way," Cameron replied quietly, as she jerked away from House. "How much did you ever _really_ know about me?" She turned and walked out of the hospital, feeling House's gaze on her back, as he calculated each of her steps.


	5. Break

_Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone – someone pointed out a couple of errors, so I am re-uploading this chapter to fix them. Hope you're liking it – please review!_

Cameron slowly opened her front door, throwing her bag down on the floor. It was so heavy now... she felt so weak. But it was worth it, she was in control. Finally there was something she could control.

She sat down on her couch, facing her small kitchen. Maybe she should just eat something. Just a little something wouldn't hurt – she needed some energy, after all. Otherwise it just wasn't healthy.

She got up quickly, she almost ran over to her cupboard, throwing it open in an attempt to get to the food before her mind told her to stop.

She crammed cookies down her throat, her stomach screaming in pleasure – it had been so long since she'd had food, _real _food in there... she moved quickly, like a madwoman, like she would never eat again in her life, just cramming more and more food down her throat, almost forgetting to swallow, not letting her mind catch up with what she was doing.

"_Allison, what are you doing? My god, have you no self-control? Look at the state of this kitchen! It's no wonder you're so fat! That's the end of this; I'm not going to let you eat like this anymore..."_

Cameron froze, the echo of the voices of the past ringing in her ears. What was she doing? _What was she doing? _After all that work for the last three days – all her hard work, she was going to spoil it because she was such a weak _pig_?

No, that couldn't happen. She couldn't get fat now. She just couldn't – think about how everyone would look at her. Cameron, so weak and pathetic – she marries a dying man, she has no friends outside of the hospital, she's in love with her boss who obviously doesn't like her – and now she's fat and ugly. She couldn't let people think that... she couldn't let _him _think that...

Her body moved on autopilot, her legs ran of their own accord to the bathroom, where she felt herself grab her toothbrush and ram it down her throat in a practised motion. It was like she had never stopped. It was like she was fifteen again.

As she purged herself, as she felt the pressure in her head and the tears spout inevitably from her eyes, she could only think of one person. The person that she cared enough about to try and be so perfect for. The person she was willing to do anything for. The person whose feelings she wished she could control – but she couldn't, so she had to control herself.

*

House and Wilson both grabbed a carton of Chinese food off the counter in House's apartment and walked over to the couch, switching on the television. They both munched silently as "America's Next Top Model" flashed onscreen.

"You actually watch this crap?" Wilson asked House, his eyes never wavering from the screen.

"Are you kidding? Hot girls in bikinis with a madwoman supermodel telling them what to do? Compelling television," House replied through a mouthful of egg-fried rice.

They sat and munched silently for a few minutes, focusing on the beautiful girls in front of them.

"Ten bucks says big-boobs gets kicked out," commented House.

"You're on," challenged Wilson.

"I'm so gonna win. She's gonna start a bitchfight any moment now. After they climb naked into the hot tub, that is." House downed another mouthful of Chinese.

"I still think big-boobs is gonna stay. Tyra can't discriminate," Wilson remarked.

"Nah, you just have a weakness for boobs. Always have."

"Whatever. You watch America's Next Top Model."

"Only because you insisted." Wilson just rolled his eyes.

They kept their gazes focused on the television screen.

"Look at small boobs over there. She's way too nice to be in this house of bitchiness. Look how she's trying to keep the peace." House shook his head disapprovingly.

"Reminds me of Cameron," Wilson commented.

House stared at him. "What?" Wilson asked. "What's the problem?"

House, for possibly the first time Wilson had ever seen, was flustered. "Oh, nothing, um – you like Cameron?"

Wilson was taken aback. "Excuse me? Since when does saying that someone reminds me of Cameron mean that I like her?"

House just shook his head. "You think she looks like a model?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Oh, gosh, I don't know – sure, she's extremely pretty. But you knew that when you hired her. What's going on?"

House turned back to the TV screen. "Big boobs just got kicked out of the house."

*

Cameron ran around like a madwoman, shoving open her cabinets and throwing all the food inside them into the trash. Never again was that going to happen... she knew the risks. She knew what throwing up did to you – she wanted to be _strong_, not disgusting. Eliminating all food eliminated almost all possibility of bingeing like that again.

Her pager going off interrupted her frenzied activity. Cameron picked it up off the counter, reading the urgent message to get to the hospital. Their patient was dying.

Sighing, she went back to the bathroom to brush her teeth just one last time. No point in letting anyone know what had been going on. They'd probably only think it was a good thing, anyway, what with how grotesquely fat she was. Cameron suddenly stopped brushing, realizing how roughly she was brushing her teeth in her flash of anger.

Closing her eyes momentarily to steady her breathing, Cameron slid on her jacket and rushed out the door. Time for some more pretending.

_Reviews are love..._


	6. Searching for Answers

_Hope everyone's liking the story... if you have any suggestions or queries, please just say so – I'd be happy to take them or clear anything up! _

_Enjoy ___

Cameron rushed into the diagnostic department room, already beginning to take off her bag. "What did I miss?" she asked breathlessly.

Foreman walked over and handed her a sheet of paper. "We still don't know what's wrong. White blood cell count was down, way down. It can't be a virus – this is something else."

House walked through the glass doors towards the three of them standing there. "Dr. Cameron! Decided to grace us with your presence? And not a moment too soon, you see, the patient's dying now – not much more work for you to do."

Foreman ignored House and continued to explain the situation. "We need to get him into a cleanroom, and fast. If he gets any sort of infection, he'll die."

Chase nodded and started walking towards the door. "I'll handle that," he said. "Someone will need to tell the parents though," he said over his shoulder, the door swinging behind him.

House started bobbing up and down, waving his arm. "Pick me, pick me! I want to tell mommy and daddy that their precious baby is going to die!"

Foreman turned towards him. "Um, fine then. Go ahead."

House stopped bouncing. "Oops – just kidding. I got _way_ too much stuff to do. Sorry. Guess it'll have to be Cameron."

Cameron narrowed her eyes. House pretended to look alarmed. "Well, Dr Cameron, I thought we should leave it up to you, just having had a beauty sleep and all..."

Cameron almost smirked inadvertently at the thought of what she was doing instead of sleeping. It was so ludicrous, it was almost funny. _Oh, House, if only you could see the state of my kitchen... _But instead she just nodded and strode out of the room, not having said a word the entire time. House and Foreman stared after her.

"Do you think something's up with Cameron?" Foreman asked quizzically. "She's been acting a little strange recently. Ever since we got this new patient."

House looked at him and shrugged. "Who cares? She's weird. You're weird. Chase's weird."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to think about your employees for once. Imagine if there really was something wrong with one of us – wouldn't you feel bad then, knowing you'd done nothing?"

House just looked at him again, not saying anything.

Foreman nodded and smirked. "Oh wait, that's right – you're Gregory House. You don't feel anything at all." He turned and left the office, leaving House standing there watching him, until he turned and picked up his PSP.

*

Foreman caught up to Cameron in the hallway, walking towards the cleanrooms where Chase was prepping the patient. "Hey, Cameron, wait up!"

Cameron turned, slowing down and allowing Foreman to catch up with her. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, her heart thumping in her chest. _He knows..._

_No, that's ridiculous, _her other half told her. _There's no way Foreman could know. And it's only happened a couple of times recently. I brushed my teeth so well, and washed my face and everything._

"Nothing's wrong," Foreman said. "I was just wondering if everything was okay with you."

Cameron tried her best to look puzzled. "Everything's fine, why would you say that?"

Foreman shrugged. "I don't know, I'm sure I'm just being silly – you've just seemed a little withdrawn and pale the last few days... are you sure everything's okay?"

Cameron shook her head. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm fine. I was a little tired yesterday – but I'm fine now." She tried her best to give him a smile.

Foreman looked relieved that he didn't have to talk about this any further. "That's what I thought – I just wanted to make sure. It's not as if House is the most caring boss in the world."

Cameron smiled. "No, that's for sure."

They slowed as they caught sight of their patient's parents standing outside the cleanroom where Chase was with Brandon. "Mr and Mrs Friedman," he said. "May we have a word?"

The borderline-hysterical parents came closer to Foreman and Cameron. Foreman began to speak. "Something's made his immune system compromised," he said seriously.

"His white blood cell count is down, which means his body can't fight off infections," Cameron supplied. "That's why we need to keep him in a cleanroom. If he gets sick, he'll die."

Mrs Friedman looked at Cameron. "Sick – how sick?"

Cameron hesitated slightly. "If he gets a cold, he'll die."

*

It was almost four and she hadn't eaten in 24 hours – excluding what had happened in her apartment. But Cameron didn't want to exclude that – she knew that vomiting wasn't completely effective. Some calories, some dreaded calories had managed to make it into her system... she could feel them swimming around, the fat depositing in her skin. The thought made her feel physically sick, and she felt only disgust when her stomach growled loudly.

Foreman and Chase were quickly grabbing something in the cafeteria – she had said she couldn't come with them, that she had something to do. She couldn't remember what. But it was fine – no-one was suspicious. No-one cared enough to notice anything she did.

Cameron headed towards the bathroom to sit in a stall and rest for a minute. She was feeling a little light-headed... and the back of her throat didn't exactly feel great either. In fact, it was raw and scratched and hurt like hell. She sat down on the lid of the toilet, leaning back and closing her eyes momentarily.

Her quick rest was interrupted by the sound of someone opening the bathroom door and entering, walking over to a stall. Cameron realised that she couldn't stay where she was forever and quickly left, heading back towards the diagnostic department, where she caught sight of House through the glass, alone in his office, contemplating the mass of symptoms on the whiteboard before him. Cameron smiled to herself, as she watched him toss his beloved red and grey tennis ball up and down. She knew that he would figure this out – or if not, that he would figure something out, and send them off on more tests until they found the answer. And they would find the answer. Because House would never give up until he found the answer.

But he wouldn't find the answer to her.

_Please Review! ___


	7. Keep It Together

_**Author's Note:**__ Hi everyone, I know it's been a long time and I can only apologize profusely for this hiatus of both my stories. To be honest, House hasn't exactly been at the top of my priority list ever since the absence of poor Jennifer and death of Cameron as we know it... but I've realised now that the only way to get through this is to keep writing my fanficiton stories, and keep reading others. So I just wanted to tell you that I am __**back**__, and if I ever leave again like this you fully have permission to write me very long, angry reviews (although any long reviews are welcomed all the time – even angry ones!) But on another note, thanks so much to everyone who interviewed and continues to read my story – it means more than you can know. Those of you who interview every time are my constants – you know who you are – and I'm eternally grateful. _

_Anyway, I know it's been a long note, but I've been gone a long time, and figured you guys deserved an apology. I will also be updating __**Take My Pain**__ as well, so fans of that, don't worry._

_And so we continue..._

*

She barely even knew what happened in the end with the patient. Oh sure, he lived – of course House figured it out. But the last few days had just been a blur to her – the autopilot was on, and she felt like she was watching the world rush by as she gazed on, a mere spectator.

She'd said all the right things though, of course – she didn't want anyone to get suspicious. ("_Oh, Allison, always so polite, such a good girl"_) – when the patient was cured she had smiled and made a light-hearted, happy comment – but it wasn't _her _anymore. She felt like a mere shell of her old self, like her person had gone – but that was the way she _needed_ it.

Sitting at the table in the diagnostic department, her chin resting on her hand, she gazed out reflectively at the doctors rushing by. So many patients, so many illnesses... _"You can't save everyone, Allison," _someone had once told her. But she didn't think she could. She didn't have that god complex that some doctors did, thinking that they were all-powerful. But that didn't mean that she shouldn't try as hard as she could with every life that was put into her hands.

Except for her own.

Cameron was started out of her reverie as Foreman strode into the office. "You're up early," he said conversationally as he threw her a file.

"Couldn't sleep," Cameron muttered as she reached for the folder.

"House was hanging out at OTB – " Foreman began.

"Since when does House hang out at OTB?" Cameron asked, standing up quickly, only to be thrown off momentarily when the room started spinning. It _had_ been a while since she'd eaten anything.

"The man's an addict," Foreman said, glancing once again at the chart.

"Right, but addicted to pills, not gambling," Chase said as he strode into the office, quietly noticing Cameron sink heavily into her chair.

Cameron put her head back on her hand, closing her eyes for a moment to breathe. Keep it together, she told herself. Just keep it together.

"It does when I win." Cameron looked up to see House striding into the office, the rest of the conversation having completely bypassed her. She saw House give her a strange glance, but she tried as best she could to wake up from her autopilot and regain her strength and a plaster on a fresh, interested, very _Cameron _look – but was only partially successful. Meanwhile House had continued – "...has grand mal and inexplicable bruising. What up with that?"

"You were just standing there and she started to seize?" Cameron asked, trying her best to act like she really cared, like she was supposed to.

"Her platelets are 89..." Foreman was saying something about her tests now. Oh god, Cameron thought, when does it end? She felt so weak, the room was slipping a little out of focus...

She gave herself a pinch to wake up her brain. Keep it together, she repeated to herself. At least until lunch, when you can have a break. She tried to figure out what was going on in the conversation. Foreman was arguing for – DIC from alcohol abuse? But he said the bruises were caused by trauma? What trauma? What bruises? Okay, now he was saying that it's _not _DIC. Make up your mind, why don't you, she thought. Okay, focus. Just think of three things this woman could have. Even if they're really bad ideas, at least you're saying something. Okay, so she's got bruises, seizures, and a low platelet count. Just choose three things that could even vaguely go with those symptoms before people think there's something wrong...

"It could be SLE, **Familial Telangectasias**, or even Cushing's," Cameron stated as assertively as she could, silently praying she hadn't completely ignored any fundamental symptoms in her personal differential diagnosis.

House glanced at her. "Good. Start with those."

Cameron momentarily panicked again – was he being sarcastic? She took off her glasses. No, just roll with it. "Which one?"

"Cushing's. Explains the seizure and the bruising," House decided.

Cameron audibly exhaled, her whole body relaxing, and tuned out the rest of the conversation. He wasn't being sarcastic – he actually thought her idea was good, and no-one was at all suspicious of what a wreck she'd become. No, not a wreck – just in _control_. Obviously she was still fat, disgustingly so, but she was working on it. And so there was no need for any of them to get the impression something was wrong – when obviously nothing _was_. Nothing at all.

*

At least with House off sparring with Foreman, it meant that she could have a few minutes' peace that morning. Sitting on a bench in the women's locker room, she pondered what was going on. Is it because I'm weak? I'm fat, yes, but why can't I get thin? Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I get anyone to take notice of me, _me, _for who I am, not what I look like? Maybe it's because I'm too fat that no-one respects me? I'm so pathetic. They all think it. Foreman, Chase, _House..._ I'm the _pretty _one, the one they like to make fun of, harass sarcastically – because I'm so ugly. I'm _fat._ Why do they make fun of me like that? Why do I take it? I'm too pathetic. I'm too nice – acquiescing to House's every will, never questioning, no leadership skills to speak of, just _me, _following the leader around as he goes, never stepping up, being _someone. _

Her thoughts were swirling round her head, making it pound. She gripped her head with her hands, trying to stop the feeling of hot tears building up behind her eyes.

There was only one thing she could do, she decided. Stay in control. If no-one would respect her for who she was, then she damn well wasn't going to give them another reason to _not _notice her. Maybe then, when she wasn't so pathetic, would House... no, she thought. Not that.

Not ever.

*

Breaks never lasted long in PPTH, and Cameron found herself once more sitting in the diagnostic office, with House arguing with everyone _again. _She knew she was _supposed _to participate, but really... she just couldn't muster up the energy to even care about acting strange and getting them suspicious.

Looking vacantly around amidst the shouting, her eyes rested on the coffee pot, and she fairly sprang up to get a cup. Maybe that would revive her a little... plain black coffee had barely any calories, right? Making a mental note to look up exactly how many calories were actually in black coffee, she poured herself a cup and gulped it down, feeling the lukewarm bitter liquid travel down her throat, with her head tipped back and eyes closed to try and block out the others' argument. She only hoped that whatever they settled on wouldn't include her... so she could have a few more precious minutes of rest. But maybe it would be better to keep going – burn calories, burn this coffee she had just drunk so quickly...

Hearing that they had decided on an MRI, she thumped her coffee mug down on the counter and volunteered to do it.

If she were thinking about the patient, at least she wouldn't be thinking about herself.


	8. Shifting Walls

_**Author's note**__: I can't apologize to you guys enough, but I can give you at least a small chapter. A much longer one should be up by the end of the day. I really hope you haven't given up on me or this story, because I know I haven't. _

The walls shifted as Cameron walked down the hallway with Chase on their way to do the MRI.

"Whoah, Cameron," Chase remarked as she stumbled. "You okay?"

Cameron felt that rush of fear drain through her as she struggled to right herself. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered. "Must have just tripped."

She saw Chase give her an odd look out of the corner of his eye, but was relieved that he didn't pursue the matter any further. Thank god she was with Chase, Cameron reflected. If she had been with House or Foreman, the questions and concern wouldn't have ended. At least Chase was stuck in his own little world.

The hunger gnawed away at her like a beast inside her stomach as she struggled to keep her composure. Only a little bit further, she told herself. Then you can sit. You'll be fine. Just keep going.

She knew she couldn't afford to pass out on the job – god knows how many suspicions that would provoke. She tried to quell her shaking limbs and ignore the pounding in her head, but it seemed to be an impossible talk. Chase threw her a sideways look.

"Cameron, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm _fine_," she snapped. "You don't need to ask me twice. I _tripped_. It happens. I'm not perfect, okay?"

Chase looked taken aback. This wasn't Cameron talking. "Right, okay, sorry," he said hurriedly, just wanting to avoid any type of small confrontation.

Finally they had reached the MRI suite, where Cameron could sit and relax, only needing to mindlessly deliver instructions and reassuring words to their patient. She reflected on how everything was going, pretty much ignoring the slightly wounded Chase next to her.

She was getting thinner. Oh yes, it was starting to work. Only today one of the nurses had remarked to her – "Oh Allison, you're looking great! Have you lost weight?" Obviously she had acted surprised, said that well, she had been trying to work out and eat more healthily, but not trying to lose _weight_, per se. This couldn't have been further from the truth, but Cameron didn't think anyone knew that.

***

House sat pensively in his office, throwing his infamous oversized tennis ball up and down. For some reason Cameron kept coming to his mind, and he just couldn't work out why. Something was off about her. Yes, that was it – something wasn't quite right. He just couldn't work out what it was.

She had seemed – distant, he decided. Yes, that was the word, _distant._ This was unusual for Cameron, who was usually so engaged in the patients and her job. It had almost seemed like she'd just randomly conjured up three diagnoses earlier – good ones, yes, but randomly all the same.

He sighed, trying to put her out of his mind, as he had done so often in the past. For some reason this girl got to him, and he just couldn't help thinking about her all the time.

***

Back in the MRI suite, Chase had started talking.

"Look, Cameron," he started, trying to ignore Cameron's obvious sigh and frown at his words. "You _have _seemed different lately. And I think I know why."

Cameron didn't even bother being alarmed. This was Chase, after all.

"Oh, Chase, for god's – "

"I think you can't handle your feelings for me. I think you wish you'd never broken off our little – uh – arrangement," he finished decidedly, looking carefully and hopefully at her.

Cameron tried to stifle the laughter bubbling up within. It really was just funny at this point, she thought. Here's me, the fattest and ugliest person, forced to make herself throw up and starve just to be normal-sized, and Chase is _still _stressing over the fact that I broke up with him? She shook her head in amazement. Men. Just so clueless.

Cameron took a deep breath. "Chase, while I appreciate your concern for me, I _haven't _been "different" lately, and I'm most certainly not pining after you. I haven't changed my mind about anything. Sorry."

Chase looked completely dejected. "Then what _is _it?" he wondered. "I thought you were over House!?"

Now Cameron was starting to get angry. "Oh, for god's sake, you are _not_ going to be brining _that_ up now! What do you people need for me to prove to you how over him I am?" Her cheeks became flushed and her eyes narrowed. "And _you_," she continued in an accusatory tone, "need to just leave me alone about our situation. It' over. Done. And frankly, now you're just irritating."

She stood up abruptly, ignoring the moving walls. "You can finish the damned scan yourself," she spat, stalking out of the room as quickly as she could without falling over.

Why had she had this reaction? Hunger made her more easily irritated, yes, but never before this bad. What had changed?

Had Chase just been too close to the truth? About House?


	9. Supposed to happen

The cafeteria should have been the last place to go, but Cameron understood her limits, and knew that she needed to give her body some sustenance before she really did pass out. It was strange to be in here, she reflected, the place she had most avoided these past couple of weeks.

The cafeteria, with its strange mix of colours and smells seemed overwhelming to the fading Cameron, and she felt worryingly close to not even being able to stand. She made her way over to the counter, selecting only a small salad. Healthy, only a few calories, but something. It was something.

She was surprised to find that she found it difficult to even just lift her fork up and put the lettuce in her mouth due to her shaking hands. Was it really this bad? Or good? She didn't even know anymore, she was just so confused.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her pager going off in her pocket. Momentarily annoyed, Cameron finished her last bite of salad and checked it. House, she thought automatically. She had no idea what crazy thing he'd done this time, but she could bet he'd need her to go there and clean up his mess for him yet again.

The only problem was, Cameron didn't think she minded.

*

"The scan showed a mass on her pancreas," Chase was saying as Cameron walked into House's office in the diagnostic department. "It's malignant, probably inoperable." Shoving the scan onto the projector board, he tried to throw a meaningful glance in Cameron's direction. She ignored it pointedly. Disappointed, Chase continued: "I'd give her two months."

The doctors grimly looked at one another.

"So," House commented chirpily, "who's going to tell her?"

Cameron's stomach growled loudly, despite its new deposit of the unsubstantial lunch.

"Well, I guess that question has been asked for us, Dr. Cameron. Kindly inform the patient of her time, and we'll catch you later."

Cameron didn't even have the energy to sigh. She knew that House was just messing with her, and she didn't want to give him any reason to think that she was different from normal. She didn't want to give him any reason to notice, or care. Because if he did, then the rejection would be only more painful.

"Of course," she said quietly. "I'll go tell her now."

*

The three men remained watching Cameron as she swiftly departed from the office.

"What's up with her?" Foreman asked.

"I dunno, but she's seemed...weird lately, hasn't she?" Chase asked in his Australian accent.

"She's been distant, and she looks really unwell and pale... I mean, I know she keeps denying anything's wrong, but maybe something is? I don't really think Cameron would be the type to tell us if something was really bothering her," Foreman commented.

"Maybe it's just the patients getting to her. You know how attached she gets..." Chase sounded confused.

"I don't know. I just feel like it's something more this time. She doesn't have her usual spark."

"Yeah – her hair's seemed really thin and her face has no colour."

"She's lost a lot of weight too."

"Depression? Weight loss is a symptom."

"Maybe. I think we just need to keep an eye on her."

Chase and Foreman turned as House gave a short bark of a laugh. "What?" Foreman asked.

"Oh, nothing..." House commented. "But, just wondering from a purely curious scientific level, do you think that if the girl wasn't as hot as she is, you'd still be so concerned?"

Chase and Foreman rolled their eyes. "House, that's enough. If you won't take any notice of her, then we have to," Foreman began. "Something's off, and you ignoring it isn't going to help."

"Whatever," House smirked. "I just mean – how much do you really know about her? All I'm saying is that we don't make diagnoses without a patient history. Shouldn't you credit Dr Cameron with the same courtesy?"

Foreman and Chase looked at each other. "I don't want to pry," Chase said, his eyes open wide at the thought of having to ask Cameron about her personal life.

"Yeah," Foreman agreed. "I'm sure she's probably fine. Just under the weather."

House smirked. "I thought so," he said as he limped into his office. Drawing the blinds, he flipped them shut with a resounding force and sat in his chair.

*

Cameron pushed the sliding door open to the patient's room, sighing as she did so. Telling patients that they were dying was never pretty. She just hoped it would be over quickly, so that she could find some time to rest, maybe even go home. She had just been feeling so tired all the time lately.

"Why isn't Dr House here?" the patient asked as soon as she had entered the room.

Wouldn't we all like to know, Cameron thought.

"He thought it would be best if I talked to you," she began. "We – we found a mass. In your pancreas." Cameron could barely look at their patient. She was young, she should have more time than this. It was just like her husband. So young.

"It looks like cancer," Cameron continued. "And... a one year survival rate for pancreatic cancer is _less_ than twenty percent."

Astonishingly, the patient didn't even react. "So what's the treatment?"

Cameron was thrown. This wasn't how this meeting was supposed to go down. There was supposed to be crying, and fits, the five stages of dying... she _knew_ this, as a doctor, so why wasn't she seeing it? Why wasn't it happening the way it should?

"Well, we can biopsy the mass and... recommend options from there," Cameron said, frowning as the patient took a bite of yogurt. She didn't like it when things didn't go according to plan. And this was _not_ going according to plan. House loved anomalies, she knew, but not her. When things didn't fall neatly into place, she was thrown, and this was one of those times.

"I – I need your consent to do the biopsy," she said, passing the form over to the patient.

As Cameron left the room, she felt confused and upset. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, she kept thinking.

"_What? What? You – you're dying?"_

"_Allison, please – "_

"_How can you die when I love you this much?"_

Something wasn't right. And Cameron was determined to get to the bottom of it.


	10. Listen to Me

_**A/N**__: Sorry for the long gap in updates – I've given you an extra-long chapter to make up for it! You might see some similarities here to a particular episode . . . watch that episode closely and you might know where I'm going with this. Enjoy!_

Confused and upset, Cameron was walking over to the nurse's station, chart in hand, to drop off some notes on their patient, trying as hard as she could to once again ignore her clenching stomach. As she walked, she tried to calculate how close her legs were to touching, feeling every brush they made against one another as a pinprick on her conscience, reminding her of how much weight she needed to lose before she was thin.

_Thin..._

"_I'm so jealous of you, Allison – you've got the flattest stomach ever!"_

Oh yes. It had all started with compliments, hadn't it. Then she became more reclusive, more obsessive, less fun. Then she stopped having friends. Then she became really sick.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the tapping of Cuddy on her shoulder.

"Cameron!" she was saying, but Cameron wasn't hearing her. Almost as if through a haze, Cameron wiped her forehead, trying to focus.

"Yeah?" she asked, attempting to look relaxed and calm, and not betray her emotions of unsettlement to Cuddy.

"House wanted me to tell you they've moved the biopsy up to 2:00, in case you were wondering what time they were starting." Cuddy peered more closely at Cameron's face. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked her, her motherly instinct kicking in. This hospital was her baby after all, and when a doctor wasn't up to their usual par, it was like a part of her baby was sick. And Cuddy knew she would do everything to protect her baby.

"Yeah," Cameron said, attempting to smile at Cuddy. "Just a bit tired, that's all. Stress of the job, you know," she added.

Cuddy looked at her closer. "Everything's going okay personally, right Cameron?" she said, touching her arm gently. "No problems with a boyfriend or anything..."

Cameron almost laughed at the prospect of that even being an issue, what with the current state of her grotesquely fat and unattractive body, and at the prospect of ever telling Cuddy this. She knew Cuddy meant well, but she was her employee. Cameron knew she had to appear perfect to everyone, all the time. Otherwise there would be consequences – just like when she was younger.

"No, no, of course not," Cameron assured her. "Really, I'm..."

"Is it House?" Cuddy threw in hesitantly. "I mean, I know that you – well, that you might have, um, expressed an interest, and I was just making sure he wasn't giving you any kind of, ah, hard time now..."

Cameron frowned, her blue eyes flashing. "House is House," she said brusquely, hunger contributing to her short temper. "And I manage to deal with him just fine. There's no need for you to worry," she said coldly, looking pointedly at Cuddy, her eyes reflecting her implication of Cuddy's _inability_ to handle House.

Outwardly, Cuddy kept her face completely calm, but inwardly she was worried. This isn't Cameron, she thought. Cameron never acts like this. She's always the picture of politeness. What's going on?

"Okay," Cuddy said gently. "Well, if you're sure there's nothing bothering you, Cameron . . . just make sure you're getting enough rest, alright? A sick doctor is no use to anyone." She squeezed Cameron's shoulder reassuringly, and walked away towards her office, leaving Cameron fuming and upset behind her.

How dare Cuddy waltz up and accuse her of being lovesick for House, or having problems at home, or being _sick_ . . . she wasn't sick, she knew that. She was losing weight! Because she was fat! Cuddy's just jealous, Cameron realised. She's jealous because now I'm getting more attention than she is. She's jealous that now I'm starting to lose weight. Not enough, not yet, but I'm losing some.

Well, Cameron thought, folding her arms and staring at Cuddy's office, well, I guess that's how she's going to play it. _Pretend _to be all motherly and caring, but really just attack me. Cameron shook her head. It wasn't worth it. Focus on the goal. Focus on getting the weight under control, and the rest will come. When everyone respects you for your control, it will all be fine.

Cameron walked up to the gallery over the operating room to watch Chase and House give their patient, Andrea, the biopsy. As she opened the door, she was surprised to almost bump into Wilson, who was already there watching.

"Hey, Allison," he said, smiling kindly at her. "How's it going?"

Cameron smiled back at Wilson. It was nice to have a male doctor friend who didn't mock or sexually harass her. Or one she wasn't in love with.

"Everything's good," she said, turning as she closed the door behind her so he couldn't see her face, which she felt sure betrayed her true emotions. "Tough case, you know," she shrugged.

"I'm sure a tough case means an even tougher House," Wilson commented.

Cameron sighed. "Yeah. I don't know how you put up with him willingly on a day-to-day basis," she said, only half-joking.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "And you wouldn't like to?" he asked quietly, still looking down from the gallery at the patient, avoiding her eyes.

Cameron felt her stomach clench – not out of hunger, but out of fear. Did Wilson think she was truly in love with House? And was he right?

She decided to ignore his comment. "Have you ever had anyone _not _react after being told they're going to be dead by next year?"

Wilson looked surprised. "I've had people hug me, and people take a swing at me . . ." Wilson started.

"This was more like she didn't even hear me," Cameron frowned.

"Don't let it get to you," Wilson said, turning to her. "Everyone reacts differently. But I'm sure you know that. How have you been doing though, Allison? I know you've had some trouble with telling patients that – well, you haven't always been able to deal with death."

"I'm fine now, thanks," Cameron said stiffly.

"Allison," Wilson said, looking at her closely. "Are you sure everything's going okay? House isn't . . . Well, I mean, you're not too . . ."

"Look, James, I appreciate your concern, but seriously, everything's going _fine. _I really don't know why people keep saying this to me. I've just been a little tired recently." Cameron took a last glance down into the OR where House was doing the biopsy, her catching her breath momentarily at the sight of his bare arms in his pink scrubs, before pushing the door open and leaving the gallery, leaving Wilson standing there alone.

Maybe she had said she was fine, but something was going on with Cameron. And Wilson knew only one person would be able to get to the bottom of it. And Wilson knew that he was the last person Cameron would want prying into her personal life.

Cameron felt annoyed at herself for getting annoyed at Wilson, and could feel her heart beating faster as she walked down hallway of Princeton Plainsboro towards the women's locker room, the one place she was pretty sure even House couldn't permeate. Sinking down onto a wooden bench by the lockers, she rested her forehead onto the cool metal and momentarily closed her eyes, trying to stop thinking about her body.

But she couldn't stop. She was digging herself if a hole, and it was impossible to stop.

"House".

House looked up as he was striding towards his office, intent on catching the end of his latest favourite soap before he was forced to once again deal with other doctors – but he could tell this was going to be ruined by Wilson deciding to tell him some serious piece of news. Again.

"Oh god," House moaned, covering his face with his hands. "Did I put the pink towels where the blue towels go again? Because you know I try so hard every week..."

"House, it's about Cameron. I'm worried about her," Wilson said, turning off House's TV.

"Why has everyone been so worried about Cameron recently?" House groaned. "Another baby's probably just died and she's flagellating herself or something, _I _certainly don't know what the problem is. So I don't know why everyone's complaining to _me_."

"How about – you're her boss?" Wilson suggested sarcastically. "You're supposed to care? Oh, and, did I forget to mention, _you're in love with her_."

House glared at him. "I'm certainly not rehashing a common and increasingly less-fun argument with you, Wilson. Did you ever hear of that expression "murdering a joke?" Yeah, we're getting into dismemberment territory here."

"All I'm saying is . . ." Wilson began, before being interrupted by House's three ducklings themselves striding into the room, Cameron at the back of the pack looking somewhat paler than usual.

"The mass in her pancreas is benign," Chase announced to House and Wilson. "It's probably just scar tissue," he said, handing over the biopsy results for House to scrutinise.

"Good news," Foreman commented. "She's probably not sick at all – everything points to her only being an alcoholic."

"And the dark one condemneth himself yet again," House cut in. "The labs you sent yesterday put her ACTH levels at abnormally high. She's got Cushings, something set it off. It's got to be in her brain, so go find out what. But take some brownie points for twying weally weally hawd," he quipped, smiling patronizingly at Foreman.

Cameron had been meticulously perusing the patient file, glad for a distraction to be occupying herself with. She hadn't been planning on making a contribution, she didn't even know where this came from. Or maybe she did.

"There is another possibility," she said, not daring to look up at anybody in case something registered in their eyes. "She didn't even _read _the consent form for the pancreatic biopsy." Cameron could feel her thoughts whirring around her head like cogs. She _knew _something had been off in that woman's reaction. Something hadn't been right.

"Well, who really reads those things?" Chase put in.

"Maybe she didn't read it because she _knew _there was something wrong with her. Look – she's had _four _hospitalizations in the last three months. There _is _another explanation – maybe she did everything to herself. Her behaviour suggests Munchausen's!"

Cameron could feel everyone's eyes on her, summing up what she had just said. She didn't like the attention focused on her and her body. She also didn't like any connections being made.

"Yeah," House quipped. "Being hospitalized certainly counts to nothing being wrong with you."

Cameron finally snapped her gaze up to him. "She's had zero symptoms since she got here, and the scarring on her pancreas can be attributed to her own injections." She could feel her face getting hot. She wished they would stop looking at her.

"She's had brain surgery! You can fake some symptoms," House admitted. "But come on, Cameron. You're usually so _nice _to the patients, surely you know that you can't fake brain tumour."

"You can fake an invisible one," Cameron said. "Have you seen the pathology reports? They didn't find any tumour! But you know all of this," she said, a line forming between her brows as her frustration became more evident. "Look at the evidence! I don't understand why no-one ever can listen to what I'm saying. No-one can ever take me seriously." Cameron could feel herself blowing everything out of proportion, but she couldn't help it. She was cranky. Why was everyone so determined to fight her on this?, she kept thinking. Why did her opinions never matter?

She could feel everyone staring at her, and she didn't like it. She didn't want them staring at her grotesque body – but she also didn't want anyone to have an inkling of what she was doing to get rid of it. She stood up quickly, steadying herself on the desk. This was enough.

There was a long pause, before House cut in. "OK. Um . . . moving on . . ." he said, making an OMG-this-is-so-awkward face to Chase, who rolled his eyes, "There is a pretty simple way to solve this. We could always just – I don't know, go to her house and see if we find any syringes and stuff."

"A great idea, House!" said Wilson, who had been standing at the back watching this entire conversation with fascination. "I told you before how Chase and Foreman promised to help me out with some of my patients today, didn't I? Cuddy's missing a few oncologists because of that conference in New York. So I guess it'll have to be just you and Cameron," Wilson said, giving a pointedly excited look at House.

House did not return this glee. He was decidedly unamused by this pathetically transparent attempt to throw him and Cameron together.

He was about to order Chase and Foreman to cover the break-in when he saw Cameron shaking slightly to his left as she seemed to grip his desk for dear life. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he noted her pained expression and – was it – discolouration around her nailbeds?

Seeing him looking, Cameron quickly righted herself, pushing her auburn curls behind her ears and thrusting her hands into the pockets of her labcoat.

"Alright," House said, looking at Wilson and his ducklings. "Cameron and I will go to the house and we'll tell you what we find. Don't wait up for us, honey," he said pointedly to Wilson.

House may have kept his tone light, but his motives were anything but. Maybe everyone was right – maybe Cameron did have a bigger problem lurking beneath the surface.

_Please review! _


	11. Twins

_**A/N**_: _Hi everyone, thanks for your continued support and kind reviews! An extra-long chapter here – you should see the plot starting to move along much faster now. I hope you like it. These events were inspired from a real episode where a lot of the dialogue is the same – I just spun what it meant my own way. Maybe the next time you watch the episode you'll see it differently. _

_Anyway, enjoy!_

House watched carefully as Cameron pulled on her grey wool coat and scarf as they walked outside, the light catching on her forehead, her veins almost translucent through her pale skin. He noted the sharp jutting out of her wrist bone as she adjusted her scarf, and the way her cheekbones seemed more prominent today than they had in weeks. The way her hair seemed to have lost some of its lustre. The way her lips were turning blue with cold.

What was going on with her?

Catching him watching her, Cameron looked quizzically up into House's face. "What?" she asked defensively, as they pushed open the doors to step outside the hospital into the cold autumn air.

"Nothing," House said, shaking his head and telling himself to stop making things up. "Oh yeah, except that everyone seems to think you're going crazy or something now."

Cameron froze for a second, digging her hands into her pockets, trying to calm herself down. Nothing's wrong, she reminded herself. House is just trying to mess with you again.

"Stop trying to screw with me, House," she said aggressively, her breath swirling in the sharp air. "Nothing is wrong with me. The only thing that's wrong is the way people continually ignore my opinions, but I suppose I should be used to your immaturity by now."

House looked at her closely. "You have circles under your eyes, and your lips are turning blue from the cold. Your skin is paler than usual, you're hair is limp and your bones are jutting out from your skin. Something's up." He shook his head mockingly. "Not that you still don't look totally _hot _though," he added.

Cameron slowed down, taking her car keys out of her pocket. "As much fun as standing here, listening to you insult me is, I think we should actually go and do what we came here for," she said, trying to keep her cool. Why did House even care?

Because she was nothing more than another puzzle to him. He couldn't figure out what was going on with her right now. That didn't mean that he cared.

Cameron unlocked the doors and got into the car as House sat down next to her in the passenger seat as she turned the key in the ignition to start the car.

House turned to her. "Look, miss cranky-pants, don't take out whatever's going on in your personal life on _me_. I'm just the handsome, impartial doctor. Who happens to be your boss."

Cameron rolled her eyes as she focused on the road ahead. "I'm not even going to rise to your bait, House," she commented, trying to sound as assertive as possible.

Had it always been so difficult, hiding it like this?

She couldn't really remember. The days just kept coming, and she just kept taking them one at a time.

"Look at this here," Cameron called over to House, taking two post-it notes off the bathroom mirror and walking back into their patient's bedroom. "Multiple appointments with multiple doctors. A symptom of Muchausen's." She sat down on the bed next to House, avoiding looking at him. Looking at House meant being burned by those blue eyes. Cameron didn't think she could handle too much in one day. She was already losing focus and wanted to go home.

"Right," House said. "Or – just thinking outside the box here – she has needs to go to her doctors because she's _sick_."

"You don't know that! All the signs are pointing to Muchausen's. She's looking for attention from doctors, and we're just feeding her psychosis. Why aren't you seeing tha– "

Cameron was cut off mid-sentence as the room started spinning and everything went out of focus. Her vision went black around the edges and she felt herself pitch forward towards the floor.

She felt a strong arm reach forward and grab her before she fell off the bed, still unfocused but regaining a sense of the room.

"Cameron," House said angrily to her. "What is going on?"

Once, when Cameron was younger, she had made herself throw up so violently there had been blood.

She had sat in the bathroom, on the floor, feeling like a pathetic dog, and been scared out of her mind. Had she finally gone too far? Had she so severely damaged her body that she was seriously ill now?

But Cameron hadn't cared enough about any potentially long-term harm done to her body, she had been too concerned about what others thought. She couldn't tell her parents what she had done, because they would freak out. She couldn't tell her friends because, well, she was embarrassed.

Somehow it all came down to embarrassment. Cameron didn't want to be known as that girl who makes herself sick. She didn't want to hear whispers in the cafeteria. She didn't want people laughing at her because she was fat anyway.

Maybe it sounded petty to an outsider. But for Cameron, it was life.

So she didn't tell anyone. She didn't tell anyone, so eventually the problem go so big that those whispers came anyway, because people aren't quite as self-absorbed as we might pretend to ourselves that they are. Gossip keeps us running. Speculation blends with fact until the two have no distinction.

And everything Cameron had been working so hard for – a chance to be like everybody else – was blown away.

Cameron struggled to keep in control of the situation. She swallowed a few times, trying to speak.

"Nothing, gosh, guess I just nodded off there for a moment, sleep deprivation and all." She said, babbling unconvincingly. Cameron had never been one of those people who was a bad liar – in fact she was a largely accomplished one, having essentially majored in the subject throughout her teen years. But her ability was largely compromised after almost losing consciousness.

House glared at her. "Cameron, I'm a doctor, not a retard. You're sick."

Cameron shook her head, glaring back at him. "No I'm not, I'm tired. Probably because you've been keeping us so long on your damn case because you're so damn obsessive!" she said, getting angry.

House gritted his teeth. Were all women this ridiculously frustrating? He'd stick to hookers for the time being.

"Are you depressed? Suicidal? Not coping with patients well? Because for god's sake, whatever it is, you've got to sort it out _now_. I can't have _two _sick doctors in the diagnostic department. You'll give us a bad name," he said, cracking a feeble joke. Cameron was unamused.

"House I am not suicidal, but I'm quickly approaching the mark. Can we please focus on the actual patient right now and not your pathetic desire to make me have some kind of deep dark secret problem?" Cameron ground her teeth together, feeling beads of sweat forming on her brow. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. Then you can go home. Or at least back to the hospital.

"Are you eating properly?" he asked her.

With that question, House knew he'd struck a real nerve. He had never seen Cameron go so stiff so quickly, he had never seen such a flash of anger in her eyes.

He had never seen her move so quickly.

She practically sprang up from the bed and turned to face him. "House, this is the end. You're acting so childish it's even beyond _you_, throwing insulting accusations my way just to irritate me. Stop acting like such a two year old because you have issues. Yeah, we know you're freaking screwed up, you torture everyone every chance you can get. But you're taking it too far now. Can you please just leave me to rest for a minute so we can not kill this poor woman?" Cameron's eyes were pleading with him now to move on.

House watched this Cameron he didn't even know, someone irrational and irritable, someone unpredictable and – how could he not have seen how thin she'd gotten recently? How could he not have noticed her shrinking body? Or was he just making himself see things that weren't really there, like Cameron was accusing him of doing now about their patient?

But House knew he was right. Cameron wasn't fine. She was all wrong. She was unhealthy and he was going to do something about it.

He just wasn't sure what.

Back at Princeton-Plainsboro, an argument was ensuing over the best course of treatment for their patient.

"If she's got Munchausen's, then we'd have found something!" House was shouting at Cameron. "A syringe or pills..."

"Munchausen's patients are good at covering their tracks! You know that!" she was shouting back, her hair coming loose from its clip. She knocked her gloves against her leg, trying to expel all the nervous energy from her body.

"Why don't we just do the Venus sampling," Chase said, looking shocked at the spat between House and Cameron. "We'll just check to make sure that nothing's wrong. Cover our bases."

"Oh, right, side with House once again," Cameron said bitterly. "I'm not surprised."

She stalked out of the room to get the patient's consent, her hands shaking as she went.

House, Foreman and Chase stared after her. "She's not fine," Foreman said quietly.

House leaned over his desk. "I know," he said, shuffling some papers. "She almost fainted at that house today."

Foreman and Chase looked horrified. "What?" they asked. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing much. I was just your typical knight in shining armour helping out a damsel in distress," House said snarkily.

"House," Chase said. "What's going on with Cameron?"

"Let's see. She's irritable, shaky, pale, dark circles, limp hair, tired all the time – and, oh yeah, seems to have lost loads of weight. I'd say the girl has some issues," House said, his temper rising.

"Are you saying Cameron is depressed? Or has an eating disorder?" Foreman asked.

House stared at him. "You think it's that serious?" he asked, momentarily dropping his tough persona. When the problems were placed in front of him – the potential causes for Cameron's symptoms – it didn't seem so well, removed any more.

Chase sighed. "I'd say it was. The girl is off. She's not right. She needs help," he said, looking somewhat frightened.

Foreman shook his head. "But how do you help someone who refuses to admit there's a problem?" he asked. "Someone who's a doctor themselves?"

Cameron slid open the glass door of her patient's room, still fuming after what had happened. She deserved to be noticed. She deserved to listened to.

But she didn't deserve to have insulting accusations thrown at her.

Or was she really so screwed up that no-one was even willing to acknowledge her anymore?

"This is a consent form to stick a wire in your brain," Cameron told her patient aggressively, almost throwing the form at her. "It's important for hospitals to get these signed for procedures that are completely unnecessary."

She sounded bitchy and irritated – the complete opposite of her usual bedside manner.

What had changed?

"Then why are you doing it?" the patient asked, looking up at Cameron.

"Because you're mentally ill. You inject yourself with substances to get attention from doctors. And so far it's worked." Cameron barely looked at the Andrea, their patient. She didn't want to make eye contact.

"I'd like another doctor," Andrea said angrily.

"Just sign the forms and I'll leave, okay?" Cameron said irritatedly. "Hopefully next time you'll get a caring and concerned doctor who'll cut into your head."

Andrea signed the form, glaring at Cameron the entire time. Cameron barely registered the venom, instead focusing her energy on her next move, her next tactic to get what she wanted. She deliberately left a bottle of pills in the patient's room and left without looking back, feeling herself starting to shake.

Why had she acted like such a bitch in there? This wasn't Cameron! This wasn't her! She was sweet and caring towards patients, especially ones like Andrea who needed her help so much more.

So what was it about her that really got to her?

Maybe it was their similarities.

Maybe it was the way they were both destroying themselves, and ignoring all offers of salvation.

Cameron headed quickly down to the cafeteria of Princeton-Plainsboro, her next plan of attack already formulating. She could see the others were suspicious – especially House. She thought he'd maybe even guessed already. She had to do something about that.

Cameron quickly bought a muffin, and meticulously ripped half of it off and threw it into the garbage on her way back up to diagnostics. She would walk into the office eating and watch their confused faces. Watch them be thrown off the scent right in front of her.

Because this was more than being thin now. It was about more than being right and fitting in and being perfect and not being good enough.

Now, it was about war.

"So is the patient being prepped for the Venus sampling?" Foreman asked Chase and House as Cameron walked in, making sure her face was buried in her muffin.

"Yeah," she replied quickly, catching their attention. "The mentally-ill patient is right on track for a pointless procedure."

She saw their faces as she took another large bite of her muffin, really milking the action. Let them think she was totally fine. Let them watch her consume this muffin like it was the last thing she'd ever eat. Let them watch the crumbs spill onto the carpet.

The irony that she was losing the weight not for herself anymore – but for these people – was lost on everyone in the room.

The phone rang, breaking the momentary silence in the room. "House," House answered, not bothering to hide his bored tone to the doctor on the other end.

"What?" he asked, now alert, his voice filled with surprise, prompting the other doctors to watch him more closely. "Check it again you incompetent moron. You must have screwed up," he said, hanging the phone up as the other doctor was still talking.

"So her urine's turning orange?" Cameron asked, turning to House. Suddenly she was feeling the best she had in days.

Today she was right. Today they _had _to notice that. Today they had to see that she was worth something, and that she was perfect.

"How could you know – " Chase started to ask her.

"Well, if a doctor were to _accidentally_ leave a bottle of pills in her patient's room, and the patient took some of those pills, it might turn her urine orange."

"You set her up!" Foreman shouted angrily.

Cameron didn't even care he was shouting. "I might have," she said, revelling in the shock of the other doctors. "It's Munchausen's," she said, letting her eyes bore right into House's. "All this, she did to herself."

What Cameron didn't realise was the registration in House at that moment. She didn't realise that his narrowed eyes meant he understood. She didn't realise that this time, she wasn't hiding something anymore, because now it was known by someone else.

She didn't have a secret. She had a problem.

Her patient was streaming orange tears from her eyes, and Cameron felt no satisfaction now. She only felt empty.

Not literally – the remnants of that blueberry muffin still floated uncomfortably around her stomach – but deeper than that. She felt empty.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the patient was saying. "I'm sick! I need help!"

"After the medicine's worn off you'll get your discharge papers and psych referral," Cameron said as she adjusted Andrea's tubes. She could barely look at her. She could barely watch the orange tears streaming out of her eyes.

Was it a reflection, or was Cameron just too tired to care?

"Look, just because you stick your fingers down your throat doesn't mean the rest of us are screwed up," Andrea spat at Cameron.

Cameron froze suddenly, mid-step. What had she just said? Was it a blind lashing out, or did their patient recognize something in her?

Did she recognize their similarities? The way that – really – they were both just as screwed up as each other, but only one was about to be helped?

Did she recognize that Cameron was destroying herself too, one step at a time?

One harmful action to her body at a time?

"I guess when co-operation fails you move onto hostility," Cameron commented quietly.

"I didn't do this to myself!" Andrea shouted at her.

We never have, Cameron thought. We've never done it to ourselves. Something else has always happened.

Cameron took one last look at her patient before sliding open the glass door and leaving the room.

Andrea may have just been guessing blindly, and have really no idea what was going on, but Cameron wasn't about to give away the game now to a crazy patient who was sick anyway.

Not that there is any game, Cameron reassured herself. Your patient is crazy, deliberately harming her body to get attention. All you're doing is losing a few pounds to get thin. To be normal. To stop being so fat. To stay in control.

Because Cameron wasn't out of control.

Or at least that was what she told herself as she knelt over the toilet in the handicapped bathroom. The one that wasn't in a stall so no-one could hear what she was doing. The one completely on its own.

Just like Cameron. But as she purged that blueberry muffin from her body, she could only think of her patient and the accusation that had been so cruelly made.

Was she really this transparent? Was she really this pathetic?

Or was she now just out of control?

_Please review!_


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